Doctor Who: The Harbinger
by Keira Anne
Summary: While the newlyweds are away on their honeymoon, the Doctor finds himself a new companion in the form of a young American. A girl all alone, a solider with an impossible choice to make, a secret that even River Song doesn't know, and a universe gripped by fear of a creature far dangerous than the Oncoming Storm himself. Eleventh Doctor/OC


**Chapter 1: Twenty to Ten Part 1**

Sometimes the smallest, most insignificant of things can have the biggest impact upon a life. A spare pencil and a scrap of paper can lead to a world-changing idea. A late alarm can lead to finding to your soul mate. A wrong direction can lead to the adventure of a life time.

The insignificant object in question was a pair of missing keys. The keys, that belonged to Verity Smith, were needed to unlock the doors of Lihness Grill and Pub, her place of employment. It was Verity's turn to open the bar and set up everything for the long day ahead, however, the keys needed to do so were so far eluding her.

She wanted to scream, but held it in knowing the neighbors wouldn't appreciate the noise. Running a hand through her hair she retraced her steps from the night before for what must have been the hundredth time. She came home from work, exhausted, kicked her shoes off, dropped her coat on the floor next to them, grabbed some pieces of bread out of the fridge to eat for dinner, and then went to bed with her clothes on. Not many places to lose a set of keys. 'Garret's going to fire me,' she thought miserably of her boss's reaction when she would have to eventually tell him she lost the keys to the front door.

Verity dropped to her hands and knees and crawled about the floor of her apartment, looking under every piece of furniture and in every nook and cranny. She knew the old saying that you always find what you're looking for in the last place you look, but she just couldn't seem to find this 'last place to look'. Instead she was just going over the same places she had looked through again and again, hoping to find that somehow the keys had magically materialized there.

As she stuck her head under sofa to see if she hadn't accidentally kicked them there, the doorbell rang out loudly. Startled, she jerked up, and the back of her skull slammed into the metal frame of the couch.

"I've got your mail, Smith," the voice of the mailman called out as he knocked impatiently on the door and rang the bell again. "You've got a package, and I can't put it in your box."

Verity rubbed her throbbing head and sucked in a lung full of air through her teeth as she got up. "I'm coming, I'm coming." She opened the front door and was greeted by a blast of cold winter air and snow that stung her face and the sight of a heavily bundled up, elderly, postal carrier. Without a word the agitated mailman shoved a handful of envelopes and a small box into Verity chest. He stormed off to the next apartment, trudging through the growing snow banks.

"M-merry Christmas!" Verity called out as she juggled the mail around in her hands trying to reorganize it. The mailman refused to acknowledge her words and proceeded to pound on her neighbor's door with one hand while yanking a large package out of his bag with the other.

"I know what you're New Year's resolution ought to be: trying not to be such a grouch from now on," she muttered under her breath before retreating back to the warmth of her apartment.

She laid the envelopes down on the kitchen table, recognizing most of them as bills or junk mail and focused her attention on the colorful package that had caused such grief to the mailman. She wasn't expecting anyone to send her a Christmas present. After all who would? There was no return address on it, the hand writing on the label was unfamiliar, and upon shaking it softly she could hear the clinking of metal hitting metal.

The wrapping paper was the oddest she'd ever seen. It was multicolored with dozens of various geometrical shapes jumbled together with no rhyme or reason that had an almost 3-D effect as the shapes seemed to leap out from the paper. With some regret Verity ripped into unique wrapping, revealing a small plain brown box with a note taped to the side. Ignoring the note she opened the box and pulled out an impossibly familiar keychain with three keys dangling from the ring.

"How the...?" she said softly staring bewildered. They were, without a doubt, her keys. Her _missing_ keys. The heart-shaped metal key fob with her initials engraved into the side was proof of that. She grabbed the box to check the note hoping it would shine some light on the mystery. The note however, only deepened it.

_Merry Christmas_

_Thought you may need these._

_The Doctor_

xxx

Christmas, one of the most wonderful and magical times of the year, all the good will and cheer, whether it's honest or commercial, just makes the season all the more special. It is a time that should be spent at home with family and loved ones gathered together to celebrate and enjoy each other's company. But in a small bar, in an equally small town in the middle of America, one question plagued the mind of Verity. Why was she spending Christmas Eve, the next best thing to the day itself, stuck in a bar with a bunch of drunks?

The answer: she was broke, a simple enough reason. She had learned over the course of the past few weeks that happy drunks singing Christmas carols will leave great tip, if you could stand to listen through their tone-deaf singing and complement accordingly. She clung to the thought that after tonight she wouldn't have to deal with the problem for another whole year, and that was the only thing that kept her from losing her sanity.

Unfortunately, even that wasn't helping much anymore. The sad, undecorated, excuse for a Christmas tree in the corner and the few strands of red and green lights that hung throughout the bar (that seemed to have more bulbs burned out than it did working) felt more like an insult to the holiday season than an attempt to celebrate it and only added to Verity's annoyance.

"Christmas Eve, the new millennium and what could be the end of the world right around the corner and I'm stuck here," she said to no one, but still awaited a reply. When none came, she sighed and went back to cleaning the ever-growing stack of dirty glasses.

It was about half an hour until midnight and she had been in the bar for 13, going on 14, hours. She had opened the bar that morning and at the end of her shift learned her co-worker had called in 'sick' and wouldn't be coming in. Reluctantly, she agreed to do a double shift and stay until closing time. She had long since forgotten about the mysterious and very helpful package she had received that morning.

Another round of the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' broke out among the bar patrons making Verity groan and pinch the bridge of her nose. It was the fifth time it had been sung in the last hour and her brain was starting to protest the noise.

A group of men stood in the middle of the room, their arms around each other's shoulders, leading the chorus and singing at the top of their lungs. The lyrics were slurred and frequently interrupted by someone laughing. All of them were too drunk to stand on their own or to even know what they were doing. Verity wondered how many of them would be able to remember their little show come the next day.

Halfway through the Eighth Day one of the men slipped away from the group causing the rest to lose track of their song. He stumbled over to the bar and leaned across the counter toward Verity while the others picked back up on their song at a random spot.

"Ah! Hello there Miss!" the man called out with a British accent. "I need another one of those-" A perplexed look crossed his face as he struggled to remember through his drunken haze the name of the last drink he was served. He twisted his hands about making various signs and gestures, none of which Verity could translate into plain English.

While he continued his failing attempt to convey what he wanted to her, Verity grabbed a small glass and easily threw together the necessary ingredients for the drink. The man was still trying to communicate with his hands as she placed the glass in front of him. Spotting it, the man stopped and smiled gleefully, like a kid at Christmas.

"Yes, that's the one! Thank you," he exclaimed reaching into his jacket pocket and laying down a crumbled hundred-dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change," he added before downing most of the drink in a single gulp.

She nodded with a small smile and scribbled on the bill with a her special pen to assure its authenticity. The bill remained unmarked and her smile widen. She wasn't surprised either that it was real. The man had come into the bar shortly after starting her second shift. Each drink he paid for with a hundred-dollar bill, each time he would tell her to keep the change, and each time the bill was proven genuine. In the course of a few hours the excessively generous patron had single-handedly paid her more than she would make for the entire month. Not that she was complaining. She was hoping the man would become a regular.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink for today?" she asked as she put the money into the cash register and pulled her ample tip back out. "You're going to make yourself sick if you keep going like that."

The man looked up with a maddening grin plastered on his young face and he swirled the last bit of his drink around the glass. "Oh no, not me, no. I can always just stimulate the inhibited enzymes into reversal. A nice little detox, keeps the body free and clear of any poisons. I thought I told you that already? No, wait..." He paused and leaned over the counter again to look the bartender over. "That was Donna!" he pulled back. "Sorry, with all that ginger hair of yours you looked like an old friend of mine for a moment."

It didn't make any sense to Verity, but she reasoned that if he could say all that so quickly without slurring or stammering he was at least sober-ish, and good for another round or two. It may have been wrong, but she needed the extra cash. "If you say so," she said softly, brushing a few strands of her red hair from her face.

The man stayed there for a moment to observe the activities of the bar and slowly sip the rest of his drink giving Verity a chance to look him over properly. She had never seen him before, and Lihness being the small town it was, even if she didn't know him by name the face still should have registered. He was young, slightly older than herself, somewhere in his mid to late 20's, with unruly dark brown hair and green eyes. He wasn't a big guy by any stretch of the imagination, and yet she had watched him out drink people twice his size with little, if any, difficulty. With his tweed jacket, bracers and bow tie she thought he looked more like a college professor than someone who regularly went out binge drinking.

The man set the now empty glass back down on the counter and pushed it towards Verity with his index finger. "Don't suppose you have anything a tad stronger back there, do you?" he asked, clearly ready for anything she could dish out.

xxx

The last couple hours until closing time had dragged on and on for Verity. The crowd in the bar slowly shrunk and it grew quiet and peaceful. Mostly she was just relieved that there was no more singing. She could start to unwind as she closed and with any luck, get rid of the headache before she got home.

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle bells!" a voice from the back of the bar repeated over and over close to shouting the words.

Of course it had to be Mr. High Tipper. Everyone else had left when she had announced it was time to go. There were a few stragglers, but everyone left eventually. All except for him, and if he had been tipsy before he was now thoroughly smashed. The man was lying flat on his back on the floor (which was probably why she hadn't notice him before) with a single leg propped up on a tipped over chair.

Putting the last of the cleaned glasses away, she closed the cupboard doors and made her way over to him. "It's time for you to go home," she said sternly, clapping her hands together to catch his attention.

The man continued to sing his distorted carol, unaware of what Verity had just told him. She shook her head and let out a heavy sigh before grabbing his arm, trying yank him up.

"Come on," she ordered. "I've put up with this for long enough. I need to close up shop and I can't do that with you in here causing a racket. Time for you to leave. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

After several failed attempts to pull him up the man decided to cooperate and be more than just deadweight. He firmly grabbed Verity's arm and hauled himself up. He was immediately unsteady on his feet and stumbled back and forth, losing his fight with gravity and the alcohol in his system he tripped. Unfortunately, Verity happened to be standing directly in his path as he fell. She caught him, but struggled to hold him up.

"Geez! You're heavier than you look!" she groaned moving his arm over her shoulder before getting him back into a standing position.

The man scoffed, "Oh, I bet you're heavier than you look too."

Verity's face turned red, she had to bite her tongue and clench her fist to keep herself from saying something rude or punching him, respectively. 'Be nice,' she thought. 'He's too drunk to even know what he's saying.'

"Where do you live?" asked Verity, getting straight to the point and shaking the anger from her face. "I'll call you cab to take you home."

The man shook his head refusing to answer and started towards the door, nearly dragging Verity along with him. Luckily, she was able to grab her coat before being pulled into the cold. Outside the snow was falling down faster than rain and the walkway was already covered in a fresh layer of snow, erasing any proof that she had cleared it earlier. It was freezing cold and Verity wanted to move fast. She leaned the man up against the building, not trusting him to stand on his own for too long, and slipped her coat on with one arm while locking the front the door of the bar with the other. Once finished she fished into her pockets for a small handful change, grabbing enough for the nearby payphone.

"No need for a cab," the man announced, bravely pushing away from the side of the building. "I parked my place just around the corner. It's- " he stopped to think and twirled his finger around before pointing toward the alleyway. "That way!"

He staggered solo into the alley and Verity chased after ready to scold him. When she got around the corner what she saw stunned her. She was expecting a car, or a bike at the very least, but that wasn't it all. Amongst the trash can, piles of snow, and loose garbage scattered about the alleyway stood a blue, rectangular, wooden box the size of a phone booth with the words 'Police Call Box' displayed prominently at the top.

"It's a box," Verity stated in an annoyed tone. "It's a big, stupid, blue, box!" she said, each word louder and more emphasized than the one before it. She had lost her temper and decided that now the man was going to get hit or told off. She didn't know which and she didn't know when, she just knew one of the two was going to happen.

"It's not just any ol' stupid box," the man protested as he felt all over the box with his hands. "It's the TARDIS and it's my box! And there is a door around here somewhere." He circled around the call box several times. "Door, door, door. Where are you?" he said in a sing-song voice.

"All right, I admit it, this is my fault," Verity pinched the bridge of her nose to again fight back the headache, her temper quickly cooling. "I probably shouldn't have given you those last couple drinks," she said more to herself than to the man, who was far more interested in his box than her at the moment.

"Found it!" the man grinned devilishly and pulled on what was suppose to be handle, but the door refused to budge. He tried again, this time using more effort but the results remained the same and he frowned. "Why won't you open?" The third time he tried to yank the door open he lost his grip on the handle and fell backwards into a pile of snow.

Verity broke out in laughter at the sight of the man half laying, half sitting in the snow bank with an utterly bemused look on his face, flecks of snow blanketing his dark hair.

"Look," she said coming up to the man and offering her hand. "If you don't want a cab I can bring you to my place. Let you sleep off the booze there." For some inexplicable reason she was feeling crazy tonight. Sure the guy looked and acted harmless, but that could have been the alcohol talking. For all she knew he was a murderer or a rapist. But there was just something about him, something in his face, in his eyes, that told her she could trust him. "You can go home later when you're sober, okay? It's the least I can do for over serving you."

The man was still at first and didn't respond, he sat in the snow glaring at the box as if he was contemplating about trying the door again.

"Come on now," Verity coaxed gently, "It's not going to open, so let's get inside before we catch our deaths out here."

Groaning, the man rubbed his head, brushing some of the snow from his hair. "If only I could remember where the key was," he muttered grabbing Verity's hand, both accepting her offer and using it to lift himself out of the bank.

The two exited the alley and began to walk down the sidewalk. Even with Verity helping, they couldn't go more than a few steps before the man would nearly topple, collapse, or trip over his own feet. She could tell it was going to be long trip home and put the stranger's arm back over her shoulder. What a wonderful way to start Christmas Day.

"What's your name?" Verity asked trying to shake her mind from the chill that was quickly spreading through her body.

"My name?" the man asked, a serious look crossing his face. "You want to know my name? Well I can't tell you that!" He pressed his finger to his lips. "It's a secret," he whispered before throwing his head back and laughing, losing his serious demeanor entirely.

Verity rolled her eyes, not seeing the humor in it. "What am I suppose to call you then if you can't tell me your name? I'm not going to keep saying 'you' all night."

The man stopped walking forcing Verity to stop with him and he smiled proudly. "Call me the Doctor, just the Doctor mind you. Everyone does, not sure why though. And please don't ask 'Doctor who'. It's just so redundant. And don't call me 'Doc' either. I hate it when people do that! Absolutely hate it!" he rambled quickly, not missing a beat or slurring a word. For a moment Verity thought he had somehow miraculously sobered up in less than five seconds.

"Uhm, oh-kay..." she nodded, pretending she understood. "Well then, Doctor," she held in a laugh. "My name is Verity Smith. And I guess I'm going to be your baby sitter for tonight."

"I don't need a sitter!" the Doctor replied, offended at the very idea. "I'm 908 years old! I could be your great, great, greaty-great, granddad, and then some!"

"Whatever you say, Doctor," Verity said, rolling her eyes again. The guilt she had felt for allowing the Doctor to become so drunk was slowly evaporating.

'Doctor,' thought Verity. There was something about that word she should have remembered. But between the cold air and the exhaustion of working a double shift she couldn't get it off the tip of her tongue. 'Maybe I'll remember it after a good night's sleep.'

As they made their way down the streets of Lihness, high above them in the sky, higher than anyone still awake in the small town would ever to think to look, the waning full moon slowly began to disappear, lost in an eclipse.

xxx

It was well into the early morning hours of Christmas Day before the two arrived at Verity's apartment building. While not living particularly far away from the bar, having to almost drag the Doctor along had turned the twenty-minute trip across town into an hour long disaster. He had begun to drift in and out of consciousness shortly after exchanging names, causing Verity to drop him several times. She had never been so thankful to live on the ground floor of her apartment complex as she was now.

The digital clock in the living room flashed 3:37 in bright red numbers by the time she got the Doctor onto her couch. Within seconds of being set down the Doctor passed out drunk. Sighing in relief she made a mental note to put her newfound wealth towards the purchase of a car, hopefully preventing another night like this from ever happening again.

The bare walls and the painfully empty corner of the room reminded Verity she had yet to do any decorating for Christmas. She had intended to do it after coming home from work, but thanks to the mysterious and heavily drunk Doctor she was in no shape to do anything but sleep. Glaring down at the intruder to her couch she mumbled a few choice words directed at him before leaving.

Once in her bedroom she dropped onto the bed, face first not even bothering to remove her wet clothes. They clung to her body like a second skin and she could hear drops of water falling from the sleeve of her arm that was dangling over the edge, _drip, drip, drip_. Convincing herself that she could change later and that sleep was far more important, Verity wrapped herself in the few blankets she had and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible.

But that morning, despite Verity's best efforts, she got the worst sleep of her life. On top of her still throbbing head, every sound, even the softest of noises, awoke her. The neighbor's cat running around his apartment, the wind and snow blowing up against her bedroom window, but most of all, the Doctor. It wasn't that he was a stranger in her home (that fact didn't her as much as she knew it should have) she could hear him toss and turn on the couch relentlessly. Sometimes he would mumble in his sleep. He spoke in a complex foreign language that Verity didn't understand or recognize. At other times he would gasp as if he was in pain. She made multiple attempts to wake him, but to no avail as the alcohol still had a firm grip over him.

After several hours of restless non-sleep Verity gave up on the idea and on trying to help the Doctor and instead dragged herself into the bathroom. Removing the stiff, cold, clothes and laying in hot bath water did wonders for her body. It soothed the aching muscles in her shoulders and back and washed away some of the fatigued. The aroma of scented soap filled the small area and calmed her sense as she started to unwind. Of course, no sooner had she relaxed than a loud crash echoed through the apartment, ruining her serene moment.

xxx

The Doctor found himself lying face down on the ground. He stared confused at the unfamiliar grey carpet fibers that were mere centimeters from his eyes before pushing himself up to survey his surroundings.

Not only were the carpet fibers unfamiliar, the whole room was too! It was small and the walls were bland and bare. There were no decorations anywhere, no knickknacks and the furniture was well-worn and mismatched. The Doctor felt an overwhelming sense that everything was just there for the sake of being there and nothing more.

He was almost a hundred-percent certain he wasn't anywhere in the TARDIS.

There was a crunch beneath his boots as he stood to full height making him pause. Small pieces of glass were scattered everywhere around him and a few stray shards protruded from the sleeves of his tweed jacket. He plucked them out carefully before discarding them onto the floor with the others.

"What on earth did I do last night?" he wondered looking to see the extent of the damage caused. The shattered remains of what use to have been a glass table surrounded him and directly behind him was grey and pink plaid couch. He pushed down onto cushion, it felt familiar. Right! He had been sleeping on it. And then he rolled off...onto the glass table.

"Well, good morning," a voice said from behind him.

The Doctor turned to see the owner of the voice and the first thing he noticed were the pair of eyes looking back at him. They were a bright, distinguishable shade of blue and in contrast were surrounded by deep, dark bruises from lack of sleep. She was, as her voice gave away, a young woman in her early twenties with pale skin and traces of freckles across the bridge of her nose that spread to her cheeks and on the tops of her shoulders down her upper arms. She was very thin, her arms and legs far too lean to be healthy, and her face was sunken in, making her cheekbones more prominent. Long, damp redish-brown hair was draped over her shoulder and she was dressed only in a towel wrapped protectively around her slender frame. Nothing quite like a Celt, though the General American accent did take away from that certain charm they had. Unlike the room they were in, she was vaguely familiar and he tried to recall where he had seen her before.

"Yes, good morning, sorry about the table," the Doctor gestured to the disaster that surrounded him and flashed an apologetic smile. "I think I may have accidentally broken it."

The woman winced "It's...fine," she forced out through gritted teeth. "That thing was ugly anyway."

"I'll get you a new one. Brand new one in fact," the Doctor assured but the woman didn't seem to buy it. "Where am I?" he asked, quickly changing the subject and trying to buy himself some time as he continued to fumble with his hazy memory.

"You're in my apartment," the woman answered. "I brought you here after you got so drunk you thought a box was your ride home."

The Doctor nodded, he remembered being at a bar, it was a start. His senses were on the fritz, an after effect of the lingering alcohol. His sense of direction was shot and the only thing he could smell was the faint scent of strawberry shampoo, vodka, lemonade, and damp tweed and he was sure the last three were probably from him. "Now where am I exactly? Besides your flat, I mean. City, country, continent, and anything else you can think of that starts with a 'c' that might be relevant."

The woman cracked a smile. "It doesn't start with a 'c' but do you want me to tell you what planet we're on too while I'm at it?"

"For me it never hurts to ask," said the Doctor with an innocent smile.

"You're on good ol' planet Earth, North America, Untied States, Nebraska, in the town of Lihness. A.K.A. the middle of nowhere," said the woman flatly. "Nearest town is 25 miles that way," she jerked her thumb over her shoulder to point behind her.

"And the date?" the Doctor asked scanning the room again. He couldn't remember seeing a calendar before. With all the secondhand items in the room it was hard to place a specific date on them. Somewhere around late 20th, early 21st century, judging from the TV and other small pieces of technology lying about. Or she could be a collector, or someone completely into retro or ancient styles in which case he could really be any-when after that. "I wouldn't mind the month and year too," he added trying to make it sound like it was nothing.

The woman looked at him in disbelief. "Did you hit your head or something last night when I wasn't looking? I know we had a rough time getting here but I didn't think it was that bad. "

"No, just forgetful," he said, casually. "Go too long without looking at the calendar and next thing you know it's three months later than you think it is."

She shook her head. "It's Christmas Day, 1999 A.D. Does that sum it all up?"

"Christmas!?" the Doctor spun in a circle taking in the entire room again. "But where are the lights, the decoration? How can you celebrate Christmas without a Christmas tree? It's essential! It has Christmas in its name! It just not Christmas without it!"

"The holidays are what you make of them," the woman reasoned. She titled her head towards a flimsy looking closet door. "It's not like I don't have one. All the Christmas stuff is in there. I was going to set it up last night, but after our little trip I'm not in the mood to do it. I'll just have to suffer without."

A lightbulb went off in the Doctor's mind and he snapped his fighters, point to the woman. "I remember now! You're Verity! Always loved that name. Never met a person named Verity that I didn't like."

"That's right," she confirmed before turning away. "Let me go get some clothes and then we can continue this conversation." She looked back, "Can I trust you not to break anything else, please?"

The Doctor sat himself on the couch, crossed he legs and folded his hands neatly in his lap, showing he could behave himself.

Verity ducked into another room and was gone for a few minutes while she dressed herself. She came out wearing a simple white blouse with a knee length black skirt and pair of thick, white stockings that went past the hem of her skirt.

"Now, where were-" Verity cut herself off with a small gasp.

There, in the corner of her apartment (the same corner that hours before seemed so empty) stood her Christmas tree, fully setup with a dozen red, green, blue, silver and gold ornaments dangling from the branches and a shining star placed lovingly at the top. The Doctor stood nearby, fighting an impossible fight against a strand of hopeless tangled lights.

"Wow," Verity murmured, walking over to the artificial tree. "It looks better than I thought it would."

"This is the first time you've seen it up?" the Doctor asked. He glared at a knot in the Christmas lights and started to tug at it with his teeth.

"I found it on a curb during spring cleaning. Didn't have one before so I figured I'd take it," Verity chuckled watching the Doctor. "To be honest I didn't even think it would have all the pieces to it."

"Once I get these lights unknotted it'll be finished," the Doctor huffed, his teeth not doing anything to help the situation.

"No, this is perfect," Verity stepped back to take in the tree. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did," the Doctor corrected. He crumbled the tangled lights together and threw them to the ground near the tree's box. "The holidays may be what you make of them but that doesn't mean you shouldn't celebrate them. You were too tired to set it up, so I did it for you."

Verity smiled softly. "Thank you. You were right, it's essential."

xxx

Verity swept the remnants of the glass table to side of the room where they would be out of the way and decided to leave them there not having a trash bag to pick up the mess. Once finished she moved over to her apartment window and pushed the curtains to the side, peeking out. The snow had stopped, but there was still no sign of morning. "It's still dark," she said allowing the curtain to close. "I guess you can stay here until sunup, then you can head home. Wouldn't want you to be missed on Christmas morning."

"No one's waiting at home to miss me," the Doctor dismissed, "On my own for the time being. You know how it is. Mates go off and get married, next thing they want all this 'alone time' and I'm stuck traveling by myself while they go and do... whatever it is humans do on honeymoons," he added with a wave of his hand.

"Sounds rough," Verity smiled.

"Whatever it is, they certainly do a lot of it."

Verity laughed uneasily, choosing not to elaborate on anything that was going through her mind and walked past him. "Can I offer you something to drink while we wait?" she asked trying to quickly the change the subject.

"Yes!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Tea would be lovely if you have it, if not I can make due with coffee." He noticed an abandoned newspaper resting on the nearby writing desk and after waiting for Verity to go into the kitchen and turn away he grabbed it. The print date was from a few weeks prior, but he began to flip through it nonetheless. Why had he come here? There must have been some reason. He hoped that the local paper would shine some light on the subject.

Nothing. No mysterious disappearances, no string of deaths, nothing odd to speak of. There was the possibility that something drastic had happened in the two week gap, but if there had been, why had Verity been so quick to trust him? People living in fear usually don't just bring home drunk strangers. No matter how well they tip.

Now he remembered, he was going to go visit the Radiant Palaces of Beta Lotus, but the TARDIS had other plans. Nebraska of all places! Middle of nowhere was a kind description.

In the kitchen Verity dug through the cabinets looking for something to offer her guest and finding virtually nothing. She hadn't been grocery shopping in weeks, and it showed. "Don't have either of those. How does hot chocolate sound?" she asked pulling out a pair of packets of cocoa from the very back of the cupboard. "All though to tell the truth I don't know how long these have been here..." she added blowing off the dust that had collected on them.

"Even better!" the Doctor beamed. "I love sweet things, especially chocolate. You can never have too much chocolate is what I always say. Well, I don't actually, but I should start, it's a good saying!"

Verity picked up a worn tea kettle from her stove and filled it with water before putting it back on the lit burner. She pulled out two mugs from the cabinet, one was a discolored shade of white while the other had a chunk of porcelain missing from the rim, and dumped the powered cocoa into them.

It was quiet and awkward. Almost as much as when she had applied for her job at the bar and had to tell Garret that she had no work experience, no school transcripts, and had lost any form of identification (to this day she was still amazed he hired her). It was almost that bad.

Verity was horrible at starting conversations and now it was showing more than ever. She glanced over to the Doctor and saw him preoccupied with the newspaper that had been forgotten in the bar one late night by a drunk customer a while ago. He laughed out boisterously reading the comics making Verity relax a little.

"So where are you from?" Verity tried to break the silence as the water slowly heated. That was a good way to strike up a conversation, she'd have to remember it for later the next time she met an out of towner.

"Oh, hear and there," the Doctor said with a wave his hand. "A bit of a vagrant, go wherever the wind takes me sort of thing."

"You sound British to me," Verity stated.

"Not quite," the Doctor said enigmatically.

Verity looked towards him skeptically, "I don't know a lot about the world outside of America, but you definitely have a British accent."

"This may be hard to believe but English is not my first language." The Doctor began to fold the paper awkwardly, either trying to follow the natural fold of the paper or attempting to make an origami swan.

"Really," Verity said surprised. "You sound very natural. I never would have been able to tell."

The Doctor smiled, accepting the compliment. "It just so happens that I learned English from a Londoner. The accent's changed here and there over time, but has more or else stuck with me."

"It suits you perfectly."

The kettle finished boiling and Verity poured the steaming water into the mugs. Once the water and cocoa was mixed together she came out with them, offering one to the Doctor.

He took it happily and like he had done with the alcohol the night before, chugged it down. Half way through he choked and began to cough violently.

"Careful, it's hot," Verity warned, too late to make a difference.

The Doctor shook his head, "Thick, very thick! I was wrong, there is such a thing as too much chocolate and that was it!"

"Sorry," Verity looked down at her own mug and carefully took a sip, a look of distaste crossing her features. "I think it may have gone bad. Didn't know hot cocoa could go bad," she shrugged and took another drink. "Learn something new every day."

xxx

As the early morning continued on the pair talked casually and sip at their expired beverages. It was strange but soothing, Verity had never been all that comfortable with talking, but this felt natural. The Doctor had a certain air about him that made a person want to open up. He asked a lot of question about the town and the events of the past few weeks. There weren't many answers to give, however. Lihness was small and quiet, nothing ever really changed and everyone knew everyone else's business. So if and when something changed it caused a commotion. It was simple to follow even while being the social pariah that Verity was. No commotion, no change. The Doctor seemed confused about the lack of interesting news.

Outside the sky was still black with only the stars and the light coming from the house windows of other early risers to light the darkness. Verity leaned against the wall by the window and looked out. Everything was deathly quietly, and it was unsettling to her. Even at this early in the morning she was use to hearing the howl of a dog or the apartment's stray cat digging through the garbage. But there was nothing.

The Doctor moved next to her, peering outside. "That's odd," he mused.

"What is?"

"It's still dark."

"Of course it is," Verity replied, with a hint of amusement "It's too early for sun light yet. Or are you still too drunk to remember that?"

"Is it?" asked the Doctor, ignoring her own question. He looked up at the dark sky curiously. "What time is it?"

'Yep, still drunk...' Verity thought as she looked over at living room clock. It flashed 9:39. "It's twenty to ten."

"In the morning?"

"Yes, very good, in the morning," she said, her voice laced with heavy sarcasm.

There was a moment of silence and the Doctor gave a sideways glance at the young woman, waiting for the gears in her mind to click into motion. Verity's jaw visibly dropped as she looked back and forth between the clock and window with wide eyes. "That can't be right!" she yelled out.

The Doctor was already out the front door and looking up at the sky. "Christmas Day, 1999, central United States, sunrise should have been about 7:48." He looked to Verity as she followed him outside, as if expecting confirmation from her.

Verity just stared at the sunless sky. "Maybe the weather guy just got the time wrong?" she finally tried up with plausible answer. The Doctor gave her a look that summed up everything he thought about that statement, and none of it was very nice. "That was a stupid thing to say," she admitted rubbing her temples. "And not just stupid, I mean_ really_ stupid."

Making no attempt to console her, the Doctor continued out to the street. Verity dashed back into her apartment to grab her coat and boots and locked the front door on the way out. She struggled to jam her in arms into the sleeves of the coat while she jogged after the Doctor, who was already several blocks away. Even with her winter clothes she could feel the cold air biting at her skin. It felt colder than the night before and she pulled out a pair off gloves and a scarf from her coat pockets, slipping them on to try to keep herself warm.

Going down the street she saw that more people were awake than she had originally thought. Dozens of adults stood outside dressed only in their morning attire with jackets hastily thrown on, looking up at the pitch black sky with a mixture of confusion and worry. Young children pulled on their parents' sleeves and whined for their Christmas presents, completely apathetic to the disappearance of the sun.

"What's going on?" Verity asked catching up with the Doctor. "The sun just doesn't stop rising!"

"You're right! You're absolutely right! Stars and constellations are all in the right spot," the Doctor began to bounce in place. Verity watched, her head bobbing up and down as she followed his movements. "Earth's rotation and gravitation pull are the same, so the planet hasn't been moved. That's a relief. I don't think the TARDIS could handle pulling the planet back into alignment..." he stopped bouncing and gulped. "Again."

"Will you stop talking gibberish!" Verity yelled out exasperated, on the verge of pulling her hair out. "I don't think there is one thing you've said that's made sense, whether drunk or sober. I can't believe you haven't been locked in the loony bin yet. You might want to look in on it. It may do you some good," Verity stopped her rant upon noticing that the Doctor had continued on without her again.

"This can't be happening..." said Verity catching up with him a second.

"Well it is, the sooner you accepted that the sooner we can go about fixing it." The Doctor looked left, then right, and then spun around in a circle. "East, east, east, EAST!" he declared pointing towards the direction he thought was east. He pointed his arm straight out to the edge of the horizon before slowly raising it up, stopping at roughly a 60 degree angle. "The sun should be there, but it's not. Since the Earth hasn't been moved that would mean something is just blocking it out. Simple!"

Verity looked 'east'. "That's north," she said before gently directing the Doctor's arm towards the true east direction.

The Doctor frowned at being corrected and he reached into the lining of his jacket, pulling out a cylindrical object from an inner pocket. The handle was colored white, black and bronze with the bronze continuing on to a set of silver claws with green bulb resting in the center. With the flick of the wrist the claws extended out and unfurled from the bulb and the Doctor pressed a button on the handle causing the green tip to illuminate and the tool began to buzz.

Verity looked at the device with interest. "What is that?"

"This is a sonic screwdriver; it's my all purpose, multi-functional, go-to tool. It's one of a kind," he smiled proudly. He waved sonic screwdriver up into the air, passing it over the area of sky where the sun should have been.

"And what are you trying to do with it?" she asked.

"The sonic, like name suggests, uses sound waves, if whatever's up there is close enough I should be able to detect it by having the sound waves bounce off it."

"Like that thing the submarines use? Uhm, what's it called, sonar?"

The Doctor nodded the sound of the sonic cut out and he studied the tool for a moment before using the palm of his hand to retract it back to its original state. "No good," he sighed. "Whatever it is it's too far away for the sonic to detect."

"What if you had something that could enhance its range? Would you be able to pick it up then?"

"Of course. Enhance it enough I could find hidden planets in other galaxies," he bragged.

"Would a satellite dish work?"

The Doctor thought. "Yes, but it would have to be a big one, not your standard home television satellite, and it would need a lot of modification."

"Town hall has one mounted on the roof, they use it to keep in contact with the neighboring towns during bad snowstorms. It's about," Verity held out her arms and stretched them as far out as she could. "That big, maybe a bit bigger."

"That could work." He nodded. "All right, Verity Smith, lead the way."

* * *

_**IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!**_

**A/N: I am so on the fence with this one. It feels great to post it, because I've been working on this story since New Years 2011 and I have so much written for it, but on the other hand, I'm not sure it's worth anyone's time to read. My beta readers have all said they loved it, but they're biased to begin with. So, I'll let you, the readers, decide. Reviews! I _need_ feedback! Lots of it! Even something simple will suffice. If I don't get any, I'm not continuing. Also, I'm looking for unbiased beta reader, not just for this story, but my others as well. If you're interested, send me a private message.**

**And to give you an idea of what this story will consist of, there will be 30 chapters in total (though I may cut some), all spaced out between 2 or 3 parts (It's way too much to ask someone to sit there and read 50-80 word document pages of story all at once.), a few special chapters that will be on their own, a crossover here and there, again on their own. I've set up the story to be like a series of Doctor Who. Every chapter will be a new adventure, with new characters, that will all be connected in a way.**

**I've tried to clean up any spelling or grammar mistakes, but upon using fanfction's proofreading tool I almost had a heart attack. Personally, I think it's being too picky, but that's just me.**

**Like always, this is an AU story.**

**Doctor Who and its characters are copyright of the ****British Broadcasting Corporation** (the BBC).  


**Everything else is copyright of Keira Anne**


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